


There She Goes: Justin

by oiuytrewq36



Series: Soundtrack Trilogy, combined and expanded [7]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28542315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oiuytrewq36/pseuds/oiuytrewq36
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Brian and I actually do spend some of our visits with less time in bed than out of it. We’ve settled into a routine now, regular trips from each of us in either direction, and it feels good, stable in a new way.“I can’t wait to see you,” Brian says, his voice a gentle hesitation over the phone. His turn to make the short flight over, and he’s started to make a habit of calling me when he gets off the plane. I haven’t told him, but it might be one of the most typically boyfriend-y things he’s ever done, and I think it’s adorable.
Relationships: Brian Kinney/Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk)
Series: Soundtrack Trilogy, combined and expanded [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077905
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	There She Goes: Justin

Contrary to popular belief, Brian and I actually do spend some of our visits with less time in bed than out of it. We’ve settled into a routine now, regular trips from each of us in either direction, and it feels good, stable in a new way.

“I can’t wait to see you,” Brian says, his voice a gentle hesitation over the phone. His turn to make the short flight over, and he’s started to make a habit of calling me when he gets off the plane. I haven’t told him, but it might be one of the most typically boyfriend-y things he’s ever done, and I think it’s adorable.

He can’t see it, but I’m smiling anyway. “How was the end of your week?”

“Terrible,” he says. “Almost lost a client yesterday over some basic misunderstanding between art and copy, and then one of the web design guys quit without warning.”

“That sounds hard.” It also sounds like something he didn’t tell me about earlier, but I’m not going to bring it up right now.

He laughs. “Gonna be a lot harder once I get to you.” (Well, I did say _some_ of our visits.)

I roll my eyes and try not to swoon too much. “Call me when you’re here, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, a little soft again.

I know from prior experience that I have about thirty minutes until he’s at the building, maybe forty or forty-five if the traffic’s bad, so I make one more pass over the room, making sure the bed’s all set up (comforter folded and to the side; replacement linens waiting their turn on the desk chair) and brushing my hair probably a few more times than necessary in the tiny mirror next to the closet. It takes a little while, and by the time I’m finished I don’t really know what to do with myself, so I just go out into the living room and sit on the sofa and wait for the phone to ring.

Frances gets home from work around the forty-minute mark, slinging her backpack up on one of the hooks by the door as she comes in. 

“Hey,” I say. “You didn’t see Brian on your way up, did you?”

She gives me a weird look, which, okay, it was a weird question. “.....No?” she says. 

“Just wanted to check,” I say. “He’s running late today, I think.”

Frances nods. “There’s a big detour a few blocks over today, I saw it on my way out. Traffic’s terrible.”

“Oh,” I say.

“You staying here tonight?” Frances says, which is really just a polite way of asking if she’ll need to plug in the white-noise machine.

“Yeah,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “Another evening of falling asleep to loud nature sounds for me, then.”

I laugh, and she grins back and turns to the kitchen, starts unpacking her lunchbox on the counter.

I text Brian. **Traffic?**

**Driver was late. Now it’s traffic.**

**Ugh**.

 **Never fear, Sunshine, I’ll be there to re-deflower your ass in no time, you’ll see**.

 **Fuck you**.

 **No, fuck _you_.**

He’s typing for a while. Then he sends, **Driver says there’s some big detour up ahead. Going to be a little while longer**.

 **Frances mentioned that, apparently it’s blocking up half the city**.

 **Sounds about right**.

 **Sorry you have to deal with this today**.

He types for a little longer before responding.

 **Worth it anyway**.

It ends up taking Brian almost two hours to get all the way to the building, and by then it’s raining bullets outside. He’s soaking wet when I open the door, and he looks more bedraggled than I’ve ever seen him in the past year or so. 

The first thing I do is kiss him, stretching up onto my toes to get the grip I want on his head, because, well- if you don’t know, you _really_ haven’t been paying attention.

“Want a shower?” I say, and he nods with his forehead against my temple, nose bumping my cheek. I strip him out of his wet clothes once we get to the bathroom and crowd him into the shower that he usually sneers at for its normal size and white fiberglass sides. Today, though, he’s quiet as I wash his hair, just kissing around my face and neck while I rub some of the color back into his chest.

We dry off and move to the bedroom, after I carefully collect Brian’s wet T-shirt and sweater and jeans off the bathroom floor to hang on my radiator so I can avoid catching any shit from Frances. Brian’s perfect, scrubbed and warm and tawny, so I lie down on the bed and look up at him with just a little bit of a teasing attitude.

He smiles, but not a sex smile, one of his sweet warm smiles that are just for me. Then he looks- conflicted, somehow, expression shifting into a more inward-facing look.

“What’s wrong?” I say, and he shakes himself.

“Nothing,” he says, but still not really smiling. He comes over to lay next to me and he just looks at me, stroking the side of my face every so often.

Then he pulls the comforter up off the floor and makes like he’s thinking about drawing it over us.

“Would you mind-” he says, halting, “if- we just did this? I’m-” and he’s looking down now, Jesus, I think we have a winner for the Most Emotionally Repressed Man Justin Has Ever Met contest, “-kind of worn down.”

I wrap myself around him as tight as I can then, make him as warm and safe as possible, and he relaxes a little bit. He loses even more tension when I kiss his ear and murmur _of course_ , and still more when I tell him how good it is to see him, how much I miss him.

So, yeah, we fuck a lot when we’re together, because we’re us, and we fuck a lot when we’re not together, because we’re us, but as far as the other times? I wouldn’t trade those quiet moments with him for anything.


End file.
